Mystery at Malfoy Manor
by morrigan
Summary: A Draco-entwined-in-evil-plot adventure. Gets better as it goes on I think.
1. Default Chapter Title

Draco jerked out of a doze as the Hogwarts Express screeched to a halt. He whimpered briefly; it had been another bad dream. 

Goyle was looking at him with concern on his piggy features. "Are you OK?" 

Draco wasn't in the mood for that. 

"Of course I'm OK," he snapped. He forced himself to move, he hadn't been looking forward to coming home at all these holidays; not even though it meant escaping the company of Goyle. Crabbe had been posted home a few weeks earlier in the form of a (very angry) frog. His mother had kissed him better straight away but he was still convalescing, which meant Draco and Goyle had been spending far too much time together-- in Draco's opinion anyway. 

He heaved a sigh. Goyle heaved both their trunks, and they headed together into Muggle country. 

He hated being on Muggle territory. There were so many strange people in weird clothes: many of them carried or were hooked up to Muggle machinery which beeped and tinkled, or made strange noises in their ears. There were bright lights advertising mysterious products-- everything was somehow uglier than it had to be. Draco averted his eyes and concentrated on scanning the crowd for his mother. 

She was standing in conversation with a hefty thickshouldered woman whom Draco could have identified as Goyle's mother even if he'd never seen her before. Helena Malfoy was a pretty woman with long shining dark hair. It was an unusual combination with her skin as pale as Draco's own; normally it made her look very striking and regal but today she seemed careworn and looked older than usual. When she saw Draco she broke off the coversation, ran to him and wrapped him in a dramatic hug. 

Draco wriggled out of her embrace and grinned up at her. "C'mon Mother, I've only been gone a few months. Anyone would think I'd been missing at sea or something, the way you go on." Normally he felt embarrassed by this kind of demonsrativeness, but here and now he was secretly glad of all the comfort he could get. His mother didn't seem to take his teasing too well though; she went suddenly cold on him and said in a businesslike voice: "To the car then Draco" They said goodbye to Goyle and Mrs Goyle-- Draco felt very relieved-- and soon were safelly ensconced in the chauffeur-driven limousine, heading north to Malfoy Manor. 

# # # 

Malfoy Manor was a dark old house which had seen many terrible sights. It was very fond of Draco though and always made an effort to have friendly welcoming light shining in the windows when it felt him coming. Unfortunately its appearance was against it; some houses just aren't built to look friendly and welcoming, and Malfoy Manor was one of them. It loomed forbiddingly against the barren moorland which surrounded it. Its shape was tall and thin; there were disturbing carvings over the door. Although usually invisible to Muggle eyes, it was one of those houses that seemed designed to show up in a flask of lightning during a thunderstorm. Wizarding rumour even held it to be the basis for Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights-- a former Malfoy had supposedly been the original for Heathcliff, the hero/villain of the story. Draco didn't know any of this; he wasn't interested in Muggle literature. He just thought of the Manor as home; and as it swung open its front door to greet him he managed briefly to forget all his troubles and feel almost glad to be back. 

"Father! I'm home! How are you..." Draco raced into the main drawing-room only to find it in semi-darkness. A group of men -- maybe women as well, he couldn't see their faces-- was sitting there, and they were talking in the hushed urgent tones of conspirators. 

As soon as Draco burst in, silence fell. "Get out!" snapped Lucius Malfoy, irritated. Then he seemed to remember something. "Oh-- welcome home, Draco," he added. But Draco had already withdrawn and shut the door. "Sorry about that," apologised Lucius Malfoy looking round the room. "My son. He goes to Hogwarts." He emphasised the last part; a heavy and significant silence reigned for some moments. 

# # # 

Draco was outside the room shaking. His ear was pressed right up against the door. 

A spy and a traitor, inside his own home! Such depths he had sunk to... but he knew he was going to go through with this. He'd promised Hermione. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Draco just got so withering about my skills as a narrator at this point that I told him to tell the story himself if he thought he could do any better. He took me up on it, and until further notice this fanfiction will be brought to you in Draco Malfoy's own words: 

I only understood my feelings towards Hermione. They were clear and simple to me. Everything else in the world was mysterious and muddy. It's wrong to think that love makes people crazy. Love is the only sanity there is. 

So I stood there with my ear glued to the door, in pursuit of sanity. And even though Hermione wasn't exactly going to care if I did prov emyself worthy of her; even though she was totally wrapped up in that blasted Ron Weasley, I still did what I'd told her I'd do. It didn't do any good, though, I couldn't hear anything. And as I stood there listening to nothing like a fool my mother wandered along and saw me. 

She was really shocked. I'd never seen her look frightened before. She grabbed my hand and pulled me away from there physically-- then she led me up the corridor away from the room. As soon as we'd got far enough that we couldn't be heard she said "Draco-- never do that again." 

Her face was completely bloodless. She was squeezing my shoulder so hard it hurt-- my mother has long nails. She went on: 

"Stay out of your father's business. Keep out of the way of those people. Do you understand me?" 

"I understand, Mother," I said. I was relieved that she had phrased it that way so I wouldn't have to promise anything. 

She kissed me on the cheek and let go of my shoulder. "Go to bed Draco, you must be tired out with travelling." There was a hint in her voice that not-tiredness wasn't an option. 

I said goodnight and wandered upstairs. I was just heading to my room when the door of the portrait gallery swung open at me. 

# # # 

I really really hate the portrait gallery. Even Father never goes in there if he can help it. Servants refuse to dust there and even the torture chamber in the cellars has a pleasanter atmosphere. But something about that open door seemed-- expectant. 

I cautiously put one foot over the threshold of the room;immediately the door swung shut behind me and knocked me the rest of the way inside. I was lying face down on the dusty carpet with most of the breath knocked out of me, when all the portraits started to jabber. 

Rows and rows of Malfoy ancestors were gawping at me. 

"What's THIS?" 

"Is he a servant?" 

"Stand up boy-- let us look at you!" 

I pulled myself to my feet, and started to walk along the gallery. It was like running the gauntlet. 

"Not a servant," said a recent ancestor. " He has our blood." 

"THIS? A Malfoy?" 

"He's a milksop!" said someone wearing armour. 

"Weak-chinned..." 

"Looks consumptive to me..." 

"Can't even come into a room without falling over." 

"The blood grows weaker with each generation..." 

"You SURE he's a Malfoy?" 

"Yes, the blood certainly isn't what it used to be..." 

This was starting to get to me. 

"Like I care what a load of mouldy canvas thinks of me," I said loudly. 

The portraits grew even louder. 

"Stand up straight, boy-- that slouch makes you look shifty!" 

"SHIFTY? This halfwit? We'd be lucky!" 

"Eat more red meat, put some flesh on those puny bones!" 

"Fresh human blood, two pints each morning, no better tonic for a consumptive system." 

That was my great grandmother Scarlett Malfoy who we don't tell people about. Not that there's anything wrong with having a vampire ancestor-- at least she wasn't a Muggle. 

"So Draco-- you're in love?" 

The jabber hushed and died. Even Scarlett stopped detailing cocktail recipes and all the portraits turned to stare at me. I looked for the ancestor who'd spoken. He was a big man with long black hair and malevolent black eyes. He was staring at me rather contempuously, I thought. HEATHMONT MALFOY it said under his frame. 

"How did you know?" I asked him. 

The ancestors started again. 

"She must be pure-blood!" 

"Remember your responsibility to the Malfoy lineage!" 

"Remember you are carrying our standard! Do not let the blood be sullied!" 

"SILENCE!" bellowed Heathmont. They all shut up. 

"Go to your room, boy. We will speak of this more-- privately." He stared disdainfully round at the other portraits. 

I walked off to my room and collapsed angrily on the bed. 

### 

There's a painting above my bed, of two happy bunnies or some such nonsense. A relic of childhood. Heathmont Malfoy strode into the frame and kicked the bunnies out of the way. 

"So, Draco," he said. "I hear you're in love with a Mudblood." 

"How did you know that?" I asked again. 

"Walls have ears," he grinned mysteriously. 

"I didn't tell any walls!" I was sick of mysteries. 

Heathmont looked annoyed. "However, the house told ME." 

That was just too ridiculous to contemplate. 

"The HOUSE? Malfoy Manor? How would it know? And how would it tell you? Do walls have mouths as well? And precisely WHY is it any of your business." 

Heathmont was looking murderous. "If I was three-dimensional you'd pay a price for your insolence, you whey-faced little cur." I was very glad he was trapped in the frame. "The house can speak to me because I choose to listen to it. I am one of the few of our noble lineage--" he grimaced-- "whom the Manor has ever actually liked. You, it appears, are another." He looked me up and down, more contempuously than ever. "No doubt it has its reasons... suffice it to say that the house has asked me to warn you. 

He paused for a long time then, on purpose. I gave in first. 

"Warn me of what?" 

"Your father is angry with you. Your life may be in danger." He grinned as if to say this wasn't a displeasing thought. "Had you been my son, your life would have been in danger from the day you first spewed mewling from the womb. You're weak-- you have no fire in you. However, it seems your father has finally come to his senses." 

He stalked out of the frame. Two bruised looking bunnies limped slowly back in. 

END OF PART ONE 

AUTHOR'S NOTE I have a feeling this one is going to get pretty weird. I love "Wuthering Heights" but Heathcliff has got to be one of the most disturbing characters in literature. Endowing him with magic powers might not have been such a clever idea-- hopefully I'll be able to keep Heathmont under control. Anyway, tell me what you think of this. 

DISCLAIMER MOst of the characters here belong to JK Rowling not me. Heathmont sort of belongs to Emily Bronte but she's too dead to sue-- and that wizarding rumour about Emily being inspired by Malfoy Manor has no basis whatsoever in fact. Also you can't spell Emily Bronte's name properly on this keyboard. 


	2. Default Chapter Title

I lay there for a very long time, staring up at my ceiling which is painted Slytherin green. 

I didn't believe Heathmont. I was sure my father would never want to kill me. Not even if he had found out about me and Hermione; I didn't see how he could have, but then I didn't see how Heathmont could have either and he knew. I knew the Manor was fond of me; I'd always felt safe there. Could the house really have talked to Heathmont? 

I remembered Heathmont's words: "It can talk to me because I choose to listen to it." 

Can't hurt to try, I thought, so I lay on my bed thinking about the Manor, trying to "listen" to it and trying not to feel too stupid. Eventually I fell asleep. 

# # # 

I woke up in a cold sweat feeling panicky. I had dreamed strange things: my father sitting in a circle with some others, making dark plots in low whispers-- no, that was real. Wasn't it? 

Things came back to me. 

Crabbe's father had been one of the other men. He'd told them all about me and Hermione; told them much more than had ever happened in fact-- did he use the word "traitor"? He did-- I had watched shame darkening my father's brow. How had I seen that? What was going on? 

More snatches came drifting back. 

"But who shall be the vessel?" That was Goyle's father. "the Weasley infant.. can be directly influenced... he's already touched her." That was my father's voice. 

"no good at all... she'll be much too closely watched.." Someone else. His stoat-like face was vaguely familiar; I thought he worked at the Ministry. 

This sounded bad. I had to remember more. I tried to get back into a relaxed, dream-like state, but I failed miserably. I broke out in cold shivers instead, my feet felt like they'd been plunged into ice. My spine was crawling. 

A ghost was sitting on the end of my bed. 

# # # 

We have a few ghosts at the Manor, but I didn't recognise this one. She was a tall, slender, quite beautiful woman with large eyes and a very thin face. She had a high forehead and the kind of hairstyle that is politely known as "windswept." 

I stared at her for a moment. 

"Get off my feet!" I said. 

She smiled. "My apologies, Draco." She stood up. "Let me introduce myself. My name's Emily." 

Emily? It didn't ring any bells. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"I've come to warn you. You must leave this place at once." 

I was getting tired of this. 

"I've already BEEN warned! And I don't believe you, I don't believe my father would kill me!" 

Emily stared at me. "Kill you, Draco? If only..." 

This was too much. 

"Why can't someone say something NICE to me for a change?" I said exhaustedly, and plunged into the bottom of my bed pulling the blankets over my head. It had been a long and horrible day. 

A deep male voice said "Foolish, whining boy!" 

Typical. I didn't look out to see who it was. Then I got the shivers, and that painful icy feeling again. Emily was sitting on my feet. 

I didn't hold out for long. Nobody could. I poked my head out from the blankets. "WHAT?" I snapped. 

"I'm sorry, Draco," said Emily getting up. "I didn't mean it that way." 

"What other way COULD you mean it?" 

She looked at me seriously. "Some fates are worse than death, Draco... such as this is in store for you unless..." 

"I know," I said wearily. "Unless I leave here at once. Well I'm not going to. The Manor is my home. It's where I belong. Can't you understand that? I can't just run away..." 

"Weak, yet stubborn," said the male voice scornfully. "We should leave him to his fate, Emily." 

I looked round to see who had spoken, and was tempted to hide in my blankets again. A large male ghost was standing in the corner glowering. I recognised his features. It was Heathmont Malfoy. 

Emily was gazing at him with the same look of sappy adoration that Hermione sometimes wears for Ron. It was irritating. 

"You think he's weak?" said Emily consideringly. "Well, perhaps you're right-- he's certainly different from you." She turned to look at me, but she was still talking to Heathmont. "So pale and cold, and you were always dark fire. You are twice as tall, and broad across the shoulders, he looks quite a doll beside you. Yes--" she looked from one to the other-- "fire and frost. Your blood has certainly changed, Heathmont." And she gave the satisfied sigh of one who has summed the situation up nicely. 

I begged to differ. 

"SHUT UP ABOUT MY BLOOD!" I yelled. 

Emily's lips quirked. "Perhaps there's fire in him after all-- " she began. But I hadn't finished. 

"And if I'm pale and cold, what are you? You froze me when you touched me! You're GHOSTS, remember! Nothing's paler or colder than you are!" Emily's eyes flooded with tears. 

"You are right, Draco," she said. "And I beg of you, let your fire burn while you yet live, that you may come to rest peacefully in your grave.. There are many ghosts walking the earth, who are not numbered among the dead--" 

"Bravo!" interrupted a sarcastic voice from above my bed. Oh no, I thought, notTWO of them, that's all I need right now... 

But it was of course: Heathmont Malfoy,the portrait. 

"I thought I sensed you here-- it was a pretty speech, Emily," he sneered. "You were always one for fine words. Action, on the other hand, was quite beyond you-- why did you never take your own advice?" 

"You never understood, did you?" said Emily tearfully. "I would not join you in darkness! You were becoming less a man, more a monster-- and you thought you were finding freedom!" 

"Freedom I had." said the Portrait. "Power, I had. What chains did I ever wear-- what taboos did I ever obey? What sniveling fool's notions of justice, what restraint of passion did I ever apply to myself as I explored the Dark Arts? NONE! I was free, Emily, free as few men ever have been-- and you were too weak to join me." 

"FOOL!" exploded the Ghost in a rage-- he was talking to the Portrait. My head was spinning. "More than fool! There are no chains heavier than the chains of fear you forged-- there is no one less powerful than a man unable to love!" 

"But I loved," said the Portrait softly, staring at Emily. 

"And even that which you loved, you sought to destroy," said the Ghost with a sneer. "You tried to corrupt her, into a twisted monstrous thing like yourself-- to drag her into the darkness-- and such is what you call passion! Such is what you name love!" 

"And so my fate is to become a fool and a bleeding-heart weakling like all the other fools." said the Portrait, glowering at the Ghost. "But I'll not give in to it yet!" He bowed formally to Emily and strode out of the frame. 

"He can't learn," growled the Ghost staring at the blank picture. "Trapped in time..." 

I wanted some peace, and a lunatic-free bedroom. The Slytherin dormitory's bad enough... 

"You're all insane," I said calmly. "Would you mind leaving me? I'd like to get some sleep." 

The ghosts turned to look at me. 

"No," they said together. "You must..." 

"NO!" I shrieked at them. "I'M NOT LEAVING!" 

"I'm glad to hear it,Draco," said a voice from the doorway. 

My father was standing there-- about ten other shadowy figures were crowded behind him. 

# # # 

I felt a lurch of fear-- I'd been so sure my father wouldn't hurt me, but as he looked at me, and I looked at him, I wasn't sure any more. 

"Come with me, Draco," he said. 

I looked around the room for help but Heathmont and Emily had vanished. 

I got up and went with my father and the others. They were mostly old cronies of my parents-- I recognised their faces from my childhood. Aillel Macnair was in there-- he's my godfather. Some of the other people there I'd known as Uncle and Auntie. 

I wished my mother was among them, it would have made me feel much safer somehow. 

We were heading to the drawing room. But it didn't look like it usually did. A greenish fire was burning in the grate, but didn't seem to give off any heat. A large smoky crystal ball on a side table glowed eerily in the green light. There was a strange smell I couldn't identify; it was stinging my nostrils. There were magnified, menacing shadows flickering everywhere-- everything looked ominous and somehow significant. The atmosphere crawled with the feeling: something BAD is going to happen here. I was pretty sure I knew who it was going to happen to. 

I don't get frightened by foreboding feelings as a rule. They can threaten and make your flesh creep, but what can they actually DO to you compared to, say, werewolves? Anyway, when I was smaller they used to lock me in the torture chamber as a punishment for disobedience-- you soon get over being frightened by evil auras after a few hours alone in our cellar. Or so I thought. Because now I was so scared I could hardly move. My limbs felt too heavy-- it was like one of those dreams where it's foggy and you can't see the monster so you don't know what direction to run in. 

I was ushered to the centre of the room. The carpet had been rolled back: a glowing circle had been magically drawn on the floor. I was standing inside it, alone, in my pyjamas. Greenish light was reflecting off my skin. Everyone else was far back in the shadows. 

Finally I found my voice. 

"What exactly are you planning here?" 

My father laughed harshly. 

"Didn't you find out while you were listening at the keyhole, then? Spying for your Mudblood girlfriend I suppose..." 

"She's not my girlfriend," I said. "And..." I trailed off; probably it would be a tactical mistake to say "How did you know I was listening at the keyhole?" 

"No, she's not your girlfriend," said Father viciously. "Dragging our name through the mire for a girl you couldn't even hang onto..." He saw me wince in pain, and he gestured at the crystal ball. "Oh yes-- I've been watching you closely, ever since Crabbe's son returned from school. He was carrying some fascinating tales. Let me say right now what an unedifying spectacle you have made." 

Ugh, how humiliating. Anyone spying on my life the last few weeks would probably have burst a belt laughing. The over-in-love are such a ridiculous species. Especially when the love in question is, well-- over. Anyone would have laughed at me... except Father. He was probably just as humiliated as I was. He went on. 

"You have the chance to redeem yourself now, Draco." 

"What, by sacrificing my life for the Cause?" I said. "Perhaps you need some pure-bred Slytherin blood for a potion recipe... oh, don't look at me like that, I've SEEN those books you hide behind the false mantelpiece in the second bedroom..." 

I might have been a tad hysterical, I admit. But Father looked pretty rattled as well, which was a first. 

"Not your life, Draco. You're my only son-- you're my heir-- how can you think I'd ask that of you?" He paused, took a deep breath and said:" On the contrary, we are going to do you a great honour-- to bestow great power on you." 

I felt pretty sceptical of this. He continued. 

"The power to command obedience... to make even the greatest wizards on Earth bow to your will! The merest nod of your head will cause even Dumbledore himself to bare his heart and wait humbly for the death-blow of our master... Draco we have been preparing this charm for seven years: you have been chosen to carry the Dominus Charm!" 

As soon as he said these words a pale green light sprang up from the circle I was standing in, so bright I couldn't see outside of it. My pulse seemed to get ouder and more urgent: an invisible whirlwind of dense dark energy was spiralling upwards around me. I strained to breathe, to keep my senses. 

"That's-- stupid" I panted. "people will notice, if they start acting like zombies around me, they'll remember..." 

"That's the beauty of it." It might have been my father's voice, or someone elses's. It seemed to be coming from very far away. "They think they choose it themselves... they DO choose it themselves.. you are merely the facilitator, liberating them to choose in accordance with your commands..." 

That didn't make any sense. Did it? Breathing was getting very difficult now, the whirlwind was faster, it seemed to be sucking my energy into it. I could hear drums-- no it was the sound of my own heart. But so loud! DOOM DOOM DOOM. I made a last effort. 

"Then why don't you all carry it?" I thought of my father; his shape seemed to rise in the mist before me. DOOM-- my heart was louder. "People would kill-- they kill for less power than that. Why give it to me?" 

"A purely cosmetic drawback..." a dry, emotionless voice floated through the whirlwind. It had sucked my feet from under me now, so it seemed. 

"unpleasant, nevertheless.." -- Father. 

"certainly unpleasant, but you may tell him... gone too far... he can't turn back." This voice I'd never heard before. I gasped vainly for breath. The wind spun thicker and blacker, there was tightness on my skin. 

My father: "...your skin, Draco... like ice... ice to the touch" 

Ice... I was rising along with the whirlwind. I was part of it, it had taken my breath from me. The last thing I remember is the word ICE, echoing stupidly in my head, and the unfamiliar voice, chanting tonelessly before metamorphosing into a high, cold, cruel laugh. 

# # # 

"Ice," said a dry, emotionless voice. 

The stoat faced man from the Ministry was kneeling over me, nodding with satisfaction. I could feel where his fingertips had brushed my forehead. It was daytime. Everything was strange somehow-- I felt numb and distant. 

"It has taken, then." My father was staring at me with a cold, unreadable expression. 

"So it would seem. If you would have the goodness to summon your lady--" 

Father moved towards the door. "Helena!" he called. 

"Stand up, Draco," hissed Stoatface. He disappeared with the other dark wizards, through the connecting door to the dining room. It was just me and Father in the room now. I dragged myself to my feet, to weary to argue with anything. 

Mother came in. "Draco, there you are, thank goodness, I thought--" She broke off abruptly and came to give me a hug. 

The second she touched me she pulled back in horror. "Draco-- it was so cold-- it burned me--" She turned to Father. "You? What did you--" 

"Tell her to forget it happened," said my father. 

"LUCIUS?" said my mother staring wildly at him. She looked sick and horrified. 

I couldn't bear this. "It never happened, Mother," I said tonelessly. 

"Well-- of course-- what were we--" My mother smiled brightly but looked confused. 

"Tell her to go, Draco," said Father. 

"Lucius, what kind of a way to speak--" she sounded very cross. 

"Just go, Mother, " I told her. 

"Well-- must be off! Things to do about the house, you know, we're not ALL on holidays..." She smiled that bright smile again and hurried towards the door. 

"No-- don't go!" I said suddenly. "Stay here with me..." But she turned back towards me with that identical too-wide smile. It made me shudder. I had never felt so alone. 

"I think you'd better go after all." I wanted to cry but felt like I'd been shut off from tears somehow. She left and I looked sideways at Father. He had started smiling again. 

The other conspirators hurried in. I looked all reound to see if I could identify the one with the laugh-- it kept haunting me-- but I couldn't tell. 

They all looked incredibly pleased. 

"The ultimate weapon," Mr Crabbe was saying. There were murmurs of agreement. 

The Ministry man --Mr Didcott-- was staring at me in a kind of daze. "Such incredible power..." he kept saying over and over in his dry voice. He was lickinhis lips as he watched me. 

Other voices joined in. 

"Dumbledore won't stand a chance--" 

"Hogwarts is ours--" 

"And after Hogwarts, the WORLD--" 

"OH YEAH?" I yelled. 

There was a startled silence. They seemed to have forgotten I could speak. 

"This plan only works if I go along with it-- and I'm not going to! You've wasted your seven years-- In fact you've wasted your whole lives! I command you all to forget this plan, give up the Dark Arts, and--" I paused for inspiration, feeling that I might as well do this thing properly-- "spend the rest of your lives doing good to orphaned children and old ladies!" 

For perhaps a second, everything went quiet. Then all the conspirators except my father broke into gales of laughter. 

"Oh Draco," chuckled Macnair, shaking his head at my naivete. "It doesn't work like that. You can't use it on US-- we're the ones who put the charm on you! And sadly the obedience only lasts while you're in the vicinity-- unless it's something they secretly really wanted to do. You can't control what people do when they're not around you! We'd go round being-- what was it? -- kind to children and old ladies until we left the room. Still, wherever you go you will be master. Isn't that enough?" He chuckled again, shaking his head, still repeating "--kind to children and old ladies--" 

I was a bit deflated by that. But I rallied. 

"Well--" They all stopped conspirating, and turned to look at me, clearly expecting further entertainment. It was off-putting. "I'm still not going to co-operate with you! You need me to agree to do it. If I refuse, your whole plan fails." 

There was another, highly charged, pause. This time it was my father who broke it. "I doubt it will prove difficult to break your will, Draco," he said coldly. "I think that in fact you will co-operate with us very readily." He turned to the others. "I suggest that we get this--" he gestured at me-- "out of our way while we concentrate on some essential details of strategy." 

Mr Crabbe, Mr Goyle and a couple of others lifted me up and carried me kicking, screaming and biting, down to the torture chamber. 

I hope I gave them frostbite. 

END OF PART 2 

DISCLAIMER: Most characters & Hogwarts belong to JK Rowling. Emily belongs to no one --she's a free spirit. Most of Emily's "fire and frost" speech was reassembled from Wuthering Heights, and Heathmont is a tribute to/plagiarism of/crude piece of literary vandalism of (you, the reader, can decide..) Heathcliff in that story. 


	3. Default Chapter Title

AUTHOR'S NOTE-- THE STORY SO FAR: Draco returns home for the holidays, where he is warned of a threat to his safety by the ghost of his evil ancestor, Heathmont Malfoy, and the mysterious Emily. He ignores their warnings, and a group of Dark conspirators which includes his father force the Dominus Charm upon him; everyone except the conspirators must now obey his orders; but it has the side effect of rendering his skin icy cold to the touch. (oh no, it sounds even madder all in the same paragraph.) They are planning to use him in a nefarious plot against Dumbledore, but Draco refuses to co-operate, for reasons which may have a lot to do with his feelings for Hermione Granger. Draco is currently languishing a prisoner in Malfoy Manor's bijou basement-fitted dungeonette and torture chamber... AAAARGH! 

DRACO'S NOTE: Yeah, sorry about that, my Muggle typist seems to be getting ideas above her station. She doesn't even know what "nefarious" means, you know-- anyway, I'm the narrator round here. Me, Draco Malfoy. Now, if that's quite clear, and you're all sitting comfortably in your seats, I'll begin: 

They couldn't decide whether to torture me or not. Macnair was all for it. 

"Aillel, why is that always your answer to EVERYTHING?" said my father exasperatedly. 

"Yes, Aillel. Use a bit of imagination for goodness' sake!" I said. 

"Be quiet or I WILL give him a free hand with you," snapped Father. 

Macnair started wandering round the room picking up knives and doing Rust Removing Charms on them, muttering about how he had PLENTY of imagination. I shut up. 

Eventually they just left me there shackled to the wall and walked out, still bickering. 

"a simple Obedience Spell..." 

"no good. The boy's in *love*-- he'd break out of it" said Mr Crabbe, snickering behind his hand at my father. 

"Exactly, we have to break him from the inside out, it's the only sure way." Macnair again. He seemed to be gaining support. 

I was left staring into the dark, trying not to think about thumbscrews. Normally that's not a difficult thing to do--I don't know about you but I can manage it for, ooh, hours at a time-- but on this occasion I'd been left with a freshly polished row of them to look at. (Macnair, with a jolly-godfatherly grin: "Pick one for when I come back, Draco! Pick two or three if you like...") They were the only bright things in the cell. 

Then a silvery light lit up the room and glided in my direction. It was Emily. 

"I am SO glad to see you," I said. 

"You're being pleasant to me now?" said Emily mischievously. "It must have beena powerful magic indeed, to work such a change." 

"Shut up," I said, and then remembered. "I mean, DON'T shut up-- no, I mean: say whatever you will to me, Emily." 

"I shall, and shall enjoy it," said Emily with her eyes dancing. "But you need not worry, Draco, the Charm has no effect on ghosts. Come, we must help you escape from here." 

"Escape?" I said. "How? I can't walk through walls. You can't undo my fetters. I mean, I'm grateful for the company and the conversation--" I noticed Heathmont glowering silently in the background and went on: "and the, er, moral support. But I'm still stuck here." 

Heathmont assumed his I'm-about-to-insult-you expression. "Puling, witless whelp! I would be disinclined to meddle in your fate-- yet I am compelled-- doomed-- to aid you!" He advanced towards me. "It is only your own imbecility which holds you prisoner, boy..." 

"What Heathmont is trying to tell you," interrupted Emily, shooting Heathmont a dirty look, "is that the Manor won't let you be held prisoner here. It likes you. You only have to ask it to release you..." 

Ask it? I felt like a fool, but placed my hand on the dungeon wall and breathed deeply. I had the sense of a very old, very protective consciousness. Aloud I said "Please help me get out of here." 

The wall behind me chipped and cracked, allowing me to pull loose from it. I still had a short chain hanging from each limb. I looked around for a hacksaw. 

"There's no time for that!" said Emily impatiently. There were three loud clangs as the bolts on the door slid back. The door creaked open-- and Aillel Macnair walked in, whistling. He was stroking a knife in his belt. 

He didn't see I'd pulled loose, and grinned widely at the sight of me. "Did you choose your thumbscrews yet, Draco? Personally, I'd recommend the--" 

Sadly I never found out his preferred brand of thumbscrew. The opportunity to benefit from years of professional expertise and amateur enthusiasm completely passed me by. At that moment the heavy iron door swung inwards violently by itself, and hit Macnair hard on the back of the head. He was knocked unconscious to the floor. 

"Run!" cried Emily and Heathmont together behind me. 

So I ran, barefoot in my stylish pyjama-and-chains ensemble, upstairs, through the entrance hall and straight out the front door. 

# # # 

It was foggy outside. We walked in the moors till I was completely lost. Emily and Heathmont weren't though; they seemed to know the moorland very well. I said so. 

"It is our home, Draco," said Emily. "We have wandered these moors, restless as the winds and uneasy as the mist, for well over a century." 

"But--" I couldn't think of anything to say. That sounded terrible. "Why?" I managed eventually. 

"Fate," said Heathmont shortly. "I have failed in my lifetime and now must walk the earth till my task is completed." 

What task, I wondered, but something about Heathmont's expression discouraged conversation. 

"As for me," chimed in Emily with an almost teasing tone, "Heathmont has become something of a habit." She slipped her ghostly arm through his and we walked on, for miles and miles. 

It was getting dark. A storm broke out. My thin cotton pyjamas were soaked right through, and my chains were dragging in the spiky grass. I hadn't eaten anything in over twenty-four hours. Although the Dominus Charm seemed to protect me from the cold a little I was stumbling as I walked. Darkness flashed behind my eyes: it blended with the fog in front of me till I could no longer see anything at all. 

I kept walking, by feel, the grass cutting my feet, until I tripped over a stone and fell face down, unable to move farther. 

... I heard the sounds of an argument. 

"and you would pin your hopes on THIS? I tell you, if he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I do in a day. And he to succeed where I failed? Emily, I've seen into his heart; the yen towards darkness is as powerful in him as in any of our line..." 

"He is what we have," said Emily. And I think you misjudge him, he may be stronger than you think... he may be stronger than you were, Heathmont." She sounded very sad. 

"Emily, I waded through blood to the neck for you. I ripped out the hearts and drank the blood of your enemies-- of those who would have destroyed you, those who would keep us apart. I became more powerful than any other dark wizard, for love of you. Great and terrible crimes were committed for your sake... I know that I was corrupt, that I was mistaken-- but what could this milk-blooded starveling offer, to compare with the passion that inspired that?" 

I moaned a little, as I tried to move my stiff limbs. 

"Ah! it lives yet," snarled Heathmont turning to me. "Now, command that paltry spirit of yours-- get up! Directly!" 

"It isn't far now, Draco," said Emily with an encouraging smile. 

We were approaching the warm light given off by a strangely lopsided but friendly-looking house. The lights of a Muggle village were shining nearby. 

"Lost traveller seeks shelter and succour!" called Emily in a clear voice towards the house. "We'll leave you now Draco, you'll be safe here," she added to me. 

I lay completely still on the ground. The light of several wands approached me, illuminating a sea of storm-soaked red hair. 

I groaned as they gathered round me, realising I was surrounded by Weasleys --and Hermione was there too. 

# # # 

The room I woke up in seemed to be bright orange. Chudley Cannons posters everywhere. Even the pyjamas I was now wearing had the Chudley Cannon logo on them. They're useless. I said as much to Ron, who was hovering beside the bed with Hermione, watching me. 

He agreed with me instantly. "Yeah-- I guess they're not that great. They haven't won the League in a while." 

I was astounded; I'd been half-hoping for a fight. But-- of course! The Dominus Charm. I had unlimited power over everyone in this house. 

Could be fun, I couldn't help thinking. 

Mrs Weasley bustled in. "Draco!" she said looking concerned. "You're finally awake! How are you feeling--" she reached accross and took my hand. She looked shocked. "My dear-- you're still as cold as ICE! What happened to you? How did you end up HERE, and wet through, with those dreadful chains on you?" 

"Don't ask me any questions till I've had something to eat," I said a bit more irritably than I intended. Unlimited friendliness always makes me suspicious, I start to wonder what Mr Nice is trying to hide. 

But Mrs Weasley didn't seem annoyed. "Of course, you must be too exhausted to talk, you were half-dead when you turned up here, you poor child. I'll get you something right away." She hurried out again. I was left alone with Ron and Hermione. 

Hermione looked anxious, and guilty. "Did your Dad do this to you Draco? Did he catch you spying on him? " 

"Ten out of ten as usual Hermione," I said wearily. She flushed. 

Ron seemed flabbergasted. "So-- those chains-- your DAD put them on you?" 

"And your skin..." said Hermione softly. "Did he do some really awful Dark Magic on you?" 

She brushed my forehead with her fingers, and pulled back hastily. 

That upset me. 

"Don't worry about that," I said harshly. "Hold my hand anyway." 

Hermione took my hand. She shuddered all over but kept holding it. 

"But--" Ron began. 

"Shut up Weasley! And punch yourself in the eye!" Ron did both these things, looking at me with mute apology on his face. 

The bedroom door flew open. Fred and George Weasley bounded in. "It's the Ice Boy!" 

"He's awake!" 

"We sawed your chains off, we're going to keep them in honour of your visit..." 

"Tell us what happened Malfoy!" 

"Go on -- you have to tell us--" 

"GET OUT, YOU TWO!" I said crossly. "And stop being so blasted CHEERFUL all the time!" 

Their shoulders drooped-- their faces fell-- they trudged with slow heavy steps towards the door. I couldn't suppress a smirk. 

I looked at Hermione's hand, still holding mine. Her fingers were beginning to blister with cold. It seemed to me I could hear thunder in the distance. I hesitated, then-- 

"Kiss me, Hermione," I said. She leaned over me and planted her lips on mine. 

I saw pain twist her features as the iciness burned her. I felt suddenly sick. 

"No -- no, stop, let go!" I whispered. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Hermione..." 

Hermione was looking at me, and down at her blistered fingers. She seemed very confused. "Draco?" she began, her voice quavering. 

"There's no time for that--" I said. "Just listen to me, I've got to tell you what's happened." 

# # # 

When I had finished, there was a dumbstruck silence. They didn't have any difficulty believing me-- but of course, they wouldn't. 

"You're still under it!" I said urgently. "Think clearly, will you? I need you-- what am I going to do?" 

"I know what I'M going to do!" snarled Ron, who looked as if he'd just woken up, and was staring at me venomously. The thunder had stopped. 

"Don't hit me, Weasley," I commanded hastily, and he subsided. I turned to Hermione. "Listen, I'm not going to do this thing-- they'd kill you, you and all the other Muggle-borns-- but how am I going to get out of this? I mean, look what's happened, I've turned you all into zombies just by being here. They made me into a monster, they're never going to let me get away..." 

"Correct, Draco," said Macnair's voice form the doorway. "If not on every count. You most definitely ARE going to do this thing." He looked around the room at us. Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle were looming behind him, glowering. "There's quite a little party going on downstairs, I'd be delighted if you could join us." 

# # # 

We were led downstairs at wandpoint. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Fred, George, and Ginny were already tied up in the centre of the living room, guarded by about six of the conspirators. The others were searching the house. 

My father didn't look up when we entered the room. He was watching the crystal ball. How could I have forgotten about that? There had been no point in trying to escape -- all I'd succeeded in doing was leading the Weasleys into danger. Looking round at them all I felt horribly ashamed, especially when I saw the doleful expression which combined with terror on the faces of Fred and George. 

Ron and Hermione were tied up magically and shoved roughly towards the other captives. Macnair guided me towards my father. 

"So-- the prodigal returns," said Father dryly. "I won't waste my breath chastising you, Draco--" 

"no-- leave that to me," muttered Macnair unpleasantly behind me, gripping my shoulder. "Not that I'LL waste my breath, either..." 

Father continued. "I think perhaps there is only one language you understand. Mr Didcott?" 

Didcott advanced on the huddle of Weasleys and Hermione, with a knife in his hand. He seized Hermone-- 

"NO!" I moaned. "Please stop, I'll do it, I'll do anything..." 

"No Draco!" cried Hermione, writhing in Didcott's grip. "Dumbledore's more important, you can't--" 

"Oh, I think you'll find he can," said Father, as Didcott silenced Hermione with a hard slap. "Draco isn't the sentimental type, you know-- although you do seem to be having a most pernicious effect on him. He doesn't care a straw for your precious Dumbledore. Do you Draco?" 

I was silent. It was true. 

Hermione went white. Didcott chuckled, and delicately sliced the knife into her throat. 

I swayed. Macnair shoved me upright with an oath and a slap. 

Didcott was holding a tiny doll, carved out of ivory or something similar, to the wound on Hermione's throat. The doll was absorbing drops of her blood. He'd hardly cut her at all, I realised. 

"What--" I said in a squeak. 

"Just a guarantee of your good behaviour, Draco," said Father as Didcott handed the doll to him. The bloodstains on it had disappeared. Father muttered some vile-sounding words over it and it began to pulse with a glowing blue light. It moved its little arms and legs. 

"It's her Life Essence," said Father eventually, looking up at me with his eyes glinting. "While I hold this, I hold the Mudblood's life in my hands. One false step from you, and--" He made a crushing motion with his fist. 

I nodded dumbly. There seemed nothing to say. 

"Right," said Father briskly. "Let's clear up the mess and get out of here." 

The conspirators began to clear up all the evidence of my visit-- chains, bloodstains, my old mudsoaked pyjamas. 

"Shall I perform the Memory Charm?" said one of them. 

"No-- no need," said Father, looking at me. "Draco can do it. Tell the Weasleys and your lady love to forget this little interlude-- I'm sure they want to." 

"You shall all forget I've ever been here," I said to the huddle of prisoners. Their faces went blank. Didcott pointed his wand at the wound on Hermione's neck, and that, too, disappeared. 

We left on horseback, the Dark Wizards and myself, the hooves made a noise like thunder as we galloped accross the moors. 

# # # 


	4. Default Chapter Title

AUTHOR'S QUOTE: I would meet you upon this honestly/ I that was near your heart was removed therefrom/ To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition. / I have lost my passion; why should I need to keep it /Since what is kept must be adulterated? -- From some poem or other by TS Eliot, I forget the title. Draco takes it from here. 

Some memories from that time still come back to me in my nightmares. 

Father, with the doll writhing in his delicate long fingered hands. They're like my hands. Hermione said to me once that I had nice hands, she never thought they might crush her to death. He's laughing, tauntingly. 

The torture chamber. Macnair. They didn't let him do much; I'm valuable to them you see. Was that Father's word? Valuable. He said it to hurt me, if it was. I am no longer valued as a son, I'm a pawn. Well, perhaps a knight. (if anyone's thinking in nasty puns re: Goyle and other chess pieces, please stop. I'm angling for sympathy here.) Valuable, anyway, worth points. Too valuable to kill. Too valuable to go free. But my father still loves me. Macnair-- he loves his work, there is a fierce intensity in his eyes as he watches mine. They stand together, Macnair and my father, listening to me scream. Satisfaction on both their faces. 

There's Heathmont. Scorn twisting his face, as he strides endlessly up and down my cell. He'd have died before he wept, he'd have spat in their faces and said he'd do the same again in hell. I think only of myself, he tells me. "If you took a thought for her you claim to love, you'd be braver than this!" 

Emily is looking at me in anxious sympathy. She comes over and I shiver in her ghostly caress. Our bodies in the same space at the same time; it makes me feel better. A little. 

My mother. She's grey and tired, in the secret now. She brings me meals on a tray, and winces when she looks at me. Afraid, but I don't know whether for me or of me. And there is nothing I can say to her; even "It'll be OK" will only wring that painful too-wide smile from her face again, a kind of drugged cheerfulness. Macnair watches her with that hungry-tiger expression. She avoids looking at him, shrinking back from going too near him; he thumps me when he sees I've seen. 

And then, over and over again, there is the image of Didcott, taking off his wig. Yes, laugh if you like, but male pattern baldness is an unsightly and self-esteem-destroying affliction which causes much distress to some of its sufferers... no, of course you've guessed. The face, on the back of his head. Laughter, highpitched and cruel. Burning eyes that see into my soul. 

"I am Lord Voldemort. But you may call me Lord." He laughs again. My father is standing next to Didcott, very pale, smiling weakly. 

I can't move. Terrified. I must look like I once did in the Slytherin common room, doing my famous Petrefied Mudblood impression. Everyone laughing. 

Voldemort is laughing now. He advances on me, Didcott looking backwards, Voldemort looking into my eyes. I cringe back from him. 

"Hold him still!" Voldemort snaps at my father, and he rushes to obey, holding me upright as Voldemort comes closer to me. 

"Draco Malfoy. At last we meet," he said. 

"Urk," I think I replied. 

"And you have been chosen to carry the Charm for me-- to do my work. Are you pleased with that?" 

I didn't answer. Voldemort scrutinised me closely, eventually sighing with mock-gentleness: "I see that you are not. Why is that, Draco? You have the potential for considerable power in you-- oh yes--" he looked at my father-- "your boy is not negligible." 

I felt my father's grip on me relax slightly. He must be pleased, I thought, wondering whether I was as well. It was the first nice thing anyone had said to me for weeks. Not negligible. Yes! Engrave that on my headstone, please! 

"But-- foolish. Wilful. Willing to throw away all his power on a whim; peraps, on a surge of teenage hormones. Isn't that so?" He looked at me. 

I didn't think it was a fair question. "If you're asking me whether I love Hermione Granger," I said shaking, sticking my jaw out, "the answer's yes." 

There was a whimpering noise from behind me. 

Voldemort laughed. "Relax, Lucius. He is not without bravery. I value bravery." To me he said: "You are very misguided, Draco. What has the Mudblood ever done for you, that you should give up so much for her?" 

Not much, I admitted ruefully to myself. But let's face it, that's just a sign of her good taste... 

Voldemort seemed to be reading my thoughts. 

"You are who you are, Draco. It isn't in your nature, to give up everything for one who has given you nothing. You are powerful, you could stand high in the ranks of my followers when you perform this task. And if afterwards you don't want to carry the Domininus Charm, why, we can take it off you again." 

I felt the first ray of hope I'd had in weeks. 

He laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, it CAN be taken off, although only by those who put it on you. But when the Dark Side takes over Hogwarts, you may find you don't want it removed. You have already discovered it has certain-- advantages-- associated with it;" the scene at the Weasley's replayed in my mind; "and as a reward for your services you will certainly be allowed to keep a pet Mudblood or two..." 

I looked up abruptly. 

"You mean... you wouldn't kill her?" 

"As a special favour to you, Draco. We reward our followers well." 

"And.. the other Muggle-borns?" 

"We certainly have no wish to conduct a mass extermination. Only those who resist will be-- eliminated." 

That actually sounded quite fair. I had another question. "Erm... what about pure-bloods who resist? Potter, erm, the Weasleys?" 

Voldemort smiled suddenly; it was one of the most horrible sights I've ever seen. "That remains to be seen, Draco. There are ways in which they might be brough to our way of thinking. Macnair is one of them--" 

I shuddered violently. But at the same time there was something grimly cheerful at the thought of it being Ron Weasley instead of me, stretched out screaming in pain... 

"You are another." 

I hated carrying the Charm, but the image of myself ordering Potter to grovel had a kind of hypnotic force. Perhaps I could just have a bit of fun with it for a few days, and then get them to take it off me. 

Voldemort spoke again. 

"So-- what do you say, Draco? Do you love the Mudblood enough to save her life?" 

"OK," I said. "I'll do it." 

# # # 

What would have happened, if I'd refused? Perhaps everything would be all right. Most likely, I'd be dead. An innocent victim of the Dark Side. Draco Malfoy. Not a role I would play convincingly, I think. And of course there was the matter of Hermione, and that little doll with the light pulsing inside it... She'd have been killed, there and then. And yet, yet... 

If they had killed her, then I'd have been free. That's what I think sometimes, on those nights when I can't sleep. It's a thought that pains me, more than anything Macnair ever did-- no, that's sheer sentimental bravado. Still, it hurts nearly as much. And at least with Macnair I had someone else to blame for it. When the evil's inside yourself, you can't fight it with righteous indignation. You can't fight it at all. 

Oops, sorry, just realised I left you on a cliffhanger there, to start burbling about my insomnia. Such a poor, rambling sort of narrator you get these days, it's not like it used to be when I were a lad, why back then they were all six feet tall and omniscient... oh, OK. I'll go on with the story. 

Voldemort gestured at my father, who pulled out a large pendant, unpleasantly allive-looking, shaped like a twisted seed. He hung it around my neck, murmuring Dark Words as he did so. 

"Good luck, Draco," he said, and ruffled my hair. He hadn't done that since I was about three. 

I blinked at him, wondering if there were really tears shining in his eyes. He was proud of me! 

This touching little scene of paternal tenderness was interrupted by Lord Voldemort. Good thing too, or I might have cried. 

"I shall be with you for as long as you wear the Pendant," he said. "When you take it off in Dumbledore's office, it will summon my image, a Wraith. You will find it advisable to use the Dominus Charm immediately-- the Wraith takes its strength from you, and if you allow it to be attacked, you will die before it does. I need not remind you that you shall be closely watched--" he looked towards my father-- "and I believe you understand the penalties of failure." 

At another gesture from Voldemort, my father held the doll aloft and gave it a hard squeeze. I gasped in terror. 

Voldemort laughed again. "But you won't fail. It is a simple thing to do, and you will be richly rewarded for it. Term begins in two days. Pleasant dreams, Draco..." 

# # # 

His laughter. In my head, everywhere, perpetually taunting me, policing my thoughts. I had blinding pains, and couldn't eat or sleep. He pulled up all my fears, and made me watch them: he pulled up all my hatred, and waxed strong on it. He made me watch myself, doing to Macnair what he had done to me-- and then to Weasley, to Potter, to my father, my mother-- to Hermione. I watched a vision of myself, falling miles from my broomstick, while Potter dived bravely for the snitch; I watched the crowd jeering my death while Potter held the Quidditch Cup aloft, and heard my father as I died, naming me a bumbling idiot. 

Over and over again, I saw Hermione's face, twisted with pain as she kissed me-- I saw myself screaming and running away in the Forbidden Forest, leaving Potter to bravely stand his ground alone. I saw myself being mauled by the Hippogriff Potter had so triumphantly ridden on; and while I cringed from the pain, th fear and the humiliation, Voldemort feasted, and grew stronger and stronger in me. 

They drove me to Hogwarts. I wasn't in a state to cope with a train journey; I shook constantly, jumped at loud noises, stuttered as I spoke. I remember entering the Slytherin common room to a chorus of "Hi Draco! Ho were the holidays? God, you look awful, what happened?" Faces crowding round me: some concerned, some sneering. 

"Leave me alone," I told them-- thay all pulled back. I went wearily up to my bed, lay there awake, wishing for morning, for the time when I could take the Pendant off. 

Breakfast time. I went up to the Hall late, as instructed, so that no one could jostle me in the crowd, could touch my frozen skin. I walked dazed into the Great Hall-- and bumped into Hermione Granger, pale and tired-looking, also late, making towards Ron Weasley and not looking where she was running. 

She drew in her breath sharply when she touched me-- looked at me, and down to the half-healed blisters on her fingers-- her eyes widened. She remembered! 

She seemed about to speak, but soemthing on my face must have warned her, because she stopped, turned away from me and ran towars Ron at the Gryffindor table. 

I wandered over to my place with the Slytherins, hoping against hope that my father wasn't watching or hadn't noticed, he'd kill her instantly. Voldemort's laghter in my head increased at the thought. 

I watched Hermione out of the corner of my eye. She was whispering urgently to Weasley. I saw him shoot a near-Petrefied glance in my direction, and the two of them together grabbed a startled Harry Potter and ran out of the Hall. 

Professor Snape came strolling towards me. 

"Oh, Malfoy, you have an appointment to see Professor Dumbledore after breakfast. I believe it is something to do with your choice of subjects, your father has written him a letter.." 

I was staring into the middle distance, not eating, not listening. Everything was flickering greenly. 

Snape droned on: "you should know that if you are at any time dissatisfied with any of your subjects, or teachers, you can come directly to me..." I still wasn't listening. His tone grew sharp: "Well, if you're not going to eat anything I shall take you to Professor Dumbledore directly." 

I followed him in silence. to Dumbledore's office. I couldn't tell you now how to get there. There was a winding spiral staircase, but I don't remember climbing it-- nevertheless we must have, because we were standing before Dumbledore's door, Snape was knocking on it. 

"Mr Malfoy is here to see you, Professor." 

Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing in the corner of the office, looking wehite and scared. 

"Thank you, Professor Snape. Leave Mr Malfoy with me, please." 

Snape withdrew, glowering furiously at the three Gryffindors. 

Dumbledore looked at me. 

"Well, Draco?" he said. 

I didn't speak. I just pulled off the Pendant and threw it on the ground. 

THe laughter in my head finally stopped-- I drew a breath of relief-- and it emerged again in the room, redoubled in volume. 

The Wraith of Voldemort was dark gray, long-cloaked and transparent. It floated in the air, laughing high-pitched and cold. 

"YOU"VE LOST, DUMBLEDORE!" it shrieked, doing a kind of mad triumphant dance as it shot flames from its hands at Dumbledore, who deflected them easily. 

It saw Harry. "And Potter turns up too, meek like a lamb to the slaughter-- how sweet, that he's so eager to surrender to me! Couldn't you wait for even a few hours, little Harry Potter?" It shot more flames at Harry, who dived to the ground and rolled out of the way. He musn't have his wand with him... 

I was rooted to the spot. This was my show, my starring role. I just had to speak a few words to win the day for the Dark Side. TO win as much power as even I had ever dreamed of. Just to say the words, to save the girl. And I did nothing. "Weak!", I could almost hear Heathmont taunting me. 

The Wraith was still doing its mad dance, Dumbledore deflecting the curses from both himself and Harry-- was he getting tired, now? He's old, Dumbledore. 

The manic thing turned on me furiously. "Well, boy? Perform your part! Use the power that has been given to you!" 

I still didn't move. Hermione screamed loudly and clutched at her chest. My father had taken action. 

I looked at Dumbledore, wondering why he didn't attack the Wraith. Was it because of me? He shouldn't be so sentimental, refusing to destroy a traitor, even in defense of his own life... oh well. His weakness was going to be the death of him. 

I opened my mouth to command the old man. 

"NO, DRACO!" shrieked Hermione loudly. "NO, YOU CAN'T DO IT! I'm begging you, please don't..." She screamed again, a high pitched noise of pure agony, and fell to the floor, whimpering "it hurts.. it hurts!" Ron knelt beside her, abject terror on his face-- he was ignoring even Voldemort's ceaseless attempts to kill Harry. 

The Wraith's whole form was trembling with fury. "SEE THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR DISOBEDIENCE, BOY!" it screeched. "Look what you're doing to her! She's dying! And do not imagine that you will long survive her..." 

Looking at Hermione, I could see that it was true. Her breath was coming in low, shuddering gasps, getting fainter and fainter. 

I couldn't let it happen. But I couldn't ignore Hermione's last request to me. Could I? Even in order to save her life-- in which case, it wouldn't be a last request any more. Would it? 

Yes that's really what I thought, in a short moment of sublimely stupid panic. It didn't help me decide though. 

I thought about Voldemort's laughter, echoing in my head. Of a world where that laughter was the only law. Could I really be responsible for bringing that about? I didn't think I could... 

"I'm sorry," I muttered-- whether to Hermione, to my watching father, to the maddened Wraith of Lord Voldemort, I don't know. 

Hermione's breathing slowed, and stopped. Ron screamed, and the Wraith too bellowed horribly in rage. 

Dumbledore looked me briefly directly in the eye-- and shot a bolt of white glowing magic, straight to the Wraith. Pain filled my head, my whole body-- I staggered and fell to the ground. My vision had gone misty-- I heard Heathmont in my head, despising my thinking of my own pain even in the moment of Hermione's death: "if you took a thought for her you claim to love..." 

The pain had cleared my head. Suddenly I knew what to do. 

"KEEP BREATHING, HERMIONE!" I moaned hoarsely, and crawled over to where she lay, ignoring the suddenly weakened fire shooting from the Wraith. 

Her chest had started to move again. I was on all fours beside her. "You're stronger than him-- he can't kill you unless you let him-- you have the power to fight him!" 

Some colour had returned to her cheeks. Ron had her hand clasped tightly in his --there was a hitch in his sobbing as he looked up at me in astonishment and hope. 

"It's in you, Hermione, the power to life is in you!" I repeated manically. "Keep breathing, keep living!" 

Her breath was coming more regularly now, there was a faint smile on her face. The Wraith's fire was looking pretty feeble-- some of it hit Harry and he got up smiling. 

"Keep breathing, keep living!" I chanted. Ron stared at me in shock. The Wraith was thin as mist now -- Dumbledore shot it with the bright stuff again. It gave a last, almost petulant shriek, and vanished. The Pendant on the floor started to smoke. 

Through the mist of pain, I kept chanting. The words had long since stopped meaning anything, I only knew that they were somehow keeping her alive... just before I passed out, I saw Hermione open her eyes, moaning slightly. 

# # # 

I came to in the hospital wing. Dumbledore was standing over me, that fat pompous fool Cornelius Fudge stood beside him. Madam Pomfrey was fluttering round them anxiously, saying "... you must be sure not to distress him, he's had a terrible experience..." Hermione lay in the next bed, sleeping peacefully, Harry and Ron next to her. 

Fudge was looking very grim. When people like Fudge wear faces like that, it means: that SOMEONE's going to get it in the neck, and they're going to make sure that whatever happens, it isn't them. I was facing a lifetime in Azkaban... 

"NO! Get back and leave me alone!" I commanded. 

Dumbledore chuckled gently. "You aren't carrying the Dominus Charm any more, Draco." 

"What? Who took it off me?" My voice was shaking. It wasn't fun carrying the Charm, but Azkaban would be even less fun that that. 

"You took it off yourself," Dumbledore informed me. "You used it out of pure, spontaneous, compassionate generous love for another human being. No Dark Magic can withstand that." 

I was embarrassed. Pompous, moralizing old fool. I eyed Hermione in the next bed. She was still asleep; I didn't know whether I wanted her to have heard. Fudge and Harry and Ron were staring at me as if I had grown an extra head. 

"Be that as it may," said Fudge sharply. "this boy is guilty of conspiring with You-Know-Who, of participating in the Dark Rites involved in creating the Dominus Charm, of carrying the wraith of You-Know-Who around with him and bringing him into this very school-- undoubtedly for the purposes of killing you, Albus, and dear knows how long the rest of us might last after that.." He shuddered. "It's Azkaban for you, my boy-- unless..." 

"Yes?" I whispered hopefully. 

"Well, you were certainly not guilty of a crime this heinous on your own. Albus here points out that you are young, you might yet be redeemed-- if you will testufy against your... I mean, if you will identify for us the -- others... involved in this conspiracy, you will be allowed to go free." 

Harry and Ron held their breath as they watched me. Fudge's fat hands were rubbing together, clearly gleeful at the thought of catching my father at last. Dumbledore's expression was grave, his eyes fixed seriously on my face. I avoided looking into them. 

"No," I said finally. "It was just me-- me and Voldemort. " I had the satisfaction of seeing Fudge flinch. "I did this on my own." 

I hoped my father was watching, that moment. 

# # # 

EPILOGUE. 

ANOTHER QUOTE: "Lock up all your memories, get out of here!/You know that we can run/Today could last another million years/Today could be the end of me..." -- Blondie, "11:59" 

I was woken in my cell the other day, by a familiar icy sensation in my feet. Emily. 

"I've come to say goodbye, Draco," she said. "Thanks to you, my work here is completed-- I am moving on, with Heathmont..." 

"What work?" I asked her. 

"Long ago," she told me, "it was prophesied that one of your lineage, through his love for a Muggle-born woman, would save the wizarding world from the greatest dark wizard of his age... It could have een Heathmont, but he failed in his taks; we have been waiting to help you ever since..." 

"How did Heathmont fail?" I asked her. 

Emily looked briefly rueful. "He BECAME the greatest dark wizard of his age. I begged him, not to fight darkness with darkness, but he never understood-- I think that you have finally shown him the error of his ways." 

Heathmont appeared, looking at me with a disgusted expression. I braced myself for an insult; instead he said shortly, "You are, indeed, stronger than I am. Goodbye." "Goodbye," said Emily softly, and the two of them faded away together, holding hands. My dank cell filled briefly with the scent of heather on the moors. 

# # # 

Potter came to visit me as well.Special permission from the Ministry, what with him being the famous Harry Potter and everything. Very brave of him, to come to join all these Dementors. 

I must look pretty bad these days; he gasped at the sight of me. He drove the Dementors some distance from us with his wand; and we had a little chat. 

"I heard someone say once, that knowing you're innocent is the way to stay sane in this place. If you hold onto the thought that you're innocent, they can't drive you mad..." 

I laughed bitterly. "*No one*'s innocent, Potter." 

Harry thought about this for a second. "But you wouldn't put the whole world in Azkaban?" 

"Oh, I would," I told him drily. "If it meant that *I* could get out of the flaming place." 

Harry laughed a little and shook his head. "You know you can walk out of here whenever you want. The Ministry would be glad to let you go, if they could get evidence against your father and the others. You could just walk out..." 

"You don't understand," I said viciously. "You haven't got a father." 

Harry flinched slightly at that. "Your mother came and found me," he said. "She asked me to give you this." He pulled a canvas-wrapped package from under his robes and passed it through the bars. It was the crystal ball. 

I stared into it-- I was watching Father, pacing his study at home. He looked stressed and miserable. 

"No one else can use it, you know," said Harry softly. "Dumbledore says you have to give someone a lot of power over you, before you can spy on them like that." 

I was still staring into the crystal. Father was scratching his nose. 

"Thank you," I said to Potter. 

He nodded. "I have to go now. Keep breathing, Malfoy..." 

He left, and the Dementors closed in again. 

# # # 

I have something to hold on to, now. I watch my father, a lot of the time. He cries occasionally in the night. At these moments, I can cry too. It's a sort of bond between us. 

The conspiracy seems to have been thwarted, for the moment. He still meets with them, but it's all just talk, for now. He seems to have been sidelined since the moment when I proved myself so untrustworthy; he's not at the centre of the conspiracies any more. I think my mother is glad of this. 

He stares into space a lot of the time, thinking. I wonder if he's thinking about me. Does he wonder if I'm going to give in, to betray him? I don't think I ever shall, unless he tries to hurt Hermione again. My skin isn't worth saving. But when the nightmares, and the memories, get too close to me, sometimes it's a comfort to know that I have a way out. All I have to do is choose... 

THE END 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:This is is going to be a long Author's note, feel free to skip. (Go stright to the Review Box.) 

I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I never meant it to end this way... I didn't realise till half way through this part that Draco was in Azkaban, that's why it was getting so depressing to write. I was going to put LUCIUS there. This story has had a mind of its own all the way through, any time I thought I knew what was going to happen next I turned out to be wrong. It was a bizarre experience writing it. PLEASE review and tell me what you think, I haven't a clue what to make of it all. 

Oh yeah: there is some kind of back story involving Macnair, Helena Malfoy and spying for the good guys. I couldn't work it in cos there's already more plot than I can handle, but he's in love/lust with her, she's scared of him and he knows something about what she's been up to. Macnair makes me feel ill anyway, I don't like writing him. Another thing is that this is supposed to be a follow up to my frog story (and anyone who can think of a decent title for that, please suggest to me) but Draco keeps talking like he and Hermione had the Romance of the Century instead of two days and two kisses. So you can imagine your own history. And Emily is based on how I imagine Emily Bronte to have been; there was no recorded romance in her short life even though she did write "Wuthering Heights", so I arrogantly made one up for her. 

Anyway, I'd like to thank all of you who stuck with it to the far-too-bitter end. Blaise, if you're reading, you are a particularly encouraging and thoughtful reviewer, thank you very much. Kate S. has also been extremely encouraging, and Slytherin Dragon gave me some transatlantic tips-- although I ended up not using them cos of the ending getting all out of control as already mentioned. Urgghh, I'm really sorry about that-- OK I'm repeating myself, I'll entrust this to the tender mercies of the reviewers now. 

DISCLAIMER: Characters, Hogwarts, Azkaban etc. belong to JK Rowling. Quotes belong to whoever they're attributed to, and their publishers/ record companies. Inspiration, and some speeches, freely plundered from "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Bronte. This disclaimer also applies to any other parts of this story that I might have forgotten to attach disclaimers to. 


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